Speaker 1: The First Christmas Tree by Eugene Field. Once upon a
time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in
the evening. The wise old cedars had shaken their heads
ominously in predicted strange things. They had lived in the
forest many many years, but never had they seen such
marvelous sights as were to be seen now in the
sky and upon the hills and in the distant village. Pray,
tell us what you see, pleaded a little mine, We
who are not as tall as you, can behold. None
of these wonderful things, describe them to us, that we
may enjoy them with you. I am filled with such amazement,
said one of the cedars, that I can hardly speak.
The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars
appear to be dancing among the clouds. Angels walk down
from heaven to the earth and enter the village, or
talk with the shepherds upon the hills. The vine listened
in mute astonishment. Such things never before had happened. The
vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was a tiny tree,
so small it scarcely ever was noticed. Yet it was
a very beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns
and mosses, and other humble residents of the forest loved
it dearly. How I should like to see the angels,
sighed the little tree, And how I should like to
see the stars dancing among the clouds. It must be
very beautiful. As the vine and the little tree talked
of these things, the cedars watched with increasing interest the
wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines of the forest.
Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not mistaken,
for soon the whole air was full of the sweet
harmonies ever heard upon earth. What beautiful music, cried the
little tree. I wonder whence it comes. The angels are singing,
said a cedar, For none but angels could make such
sweet music. But the stars are singing, too, said another cedar. Yes,
and the shepherds on the hills join in the song.
And what a strangely glorious song it is. The trees
listened to the singing, but they did not understand its meaning.
It seemed to be an anthem, and it was of
a child that had been born. But further than this
they did not understand. The strange and glorious song continued
all the night, and all that night the angels walked
to and fro, and the shepherd folk talked with the angels,
and the stars danced and caroled in high heaven. And
it was nearly morning when the cedars cried out, they
are coming to the forest. The angels are coming to
the forest. And surely enough this was true. The vine
and the little tree were very terrified, and they begged
their older and stronger neighbors to protect them from harm.
But the cedars were too busy with their own fears
to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the
humble vine and the little tree. The angels came into
the forest, singing the same glorious anthem about the child,
and the stars sang in chorus with them, until every
part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song.
There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host
to inspire fear. They were clad all in white, and
there were crowns upon their fair heads, and golden harps
in their hands. Love, hope, charity, compassion, and joy beamed
from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill
the forest with a divine peace. The angels came through
the forest to where the little tree stood, and gathering
round it, they touched it with their hands and kissed
its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than before.
And their song was about the child, the child, the
child that had been born. Then the stars came down
from the skies and danced and hung upon the branches
of the tree, and they too sang that song, the
song of the Child. And all the other trees, and
the vines, and the ferns and the mosses beheld in wonder.
Nor could they understand why all these things were being done,
and why this exceeding honor should be shown the little tree.
When the morning came, the angels left the forest, all
but one angel, who remained behind and lingered near the
little tree. Then a cedar asked, why do you tarry
with us, holy Angel? And the angel answered, I stay
to guard this little tree, for it is sacred and
no harm shall come to it. The little tree felt
quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its
head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived
and grew and waxed in strength and beauty. The theedars
said they never had seen the like the sun seemed
to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree. Heaven
dropped its sweetest dew upon it, And the winds never
came to the forest that they did not forget their
rude manners and linger to kiss the little tree and
sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,
no harm threatened, for the angel never slept. Through the
day and through the night. The Angel watched the little
tree and protected it from all evil. Oftentimes the trees
talked with the angel, but of course he understood little
of what he said, for he spoke always of the
child who was to become the master. And always, when
thus he talked, he caressed the little tree, and stroked
its branches and leaves, and moistened them with his tears.
It all was so very strange that none in the
forest could understand. So the years passed the angel watching
his blooming charge. Sometimes the beast strayed toward the little
tree and threatened to devour its tender foliage. Sometimes the
woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down the
straight and comely thing. Sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
drought swept from the south and sought to blight the
forest and all its verdure. The angel kept them from
the little tree. Serene and beautiful, it grew, until now
it was no longer a little tree, but the pride
and glory of the forest. One day the tree heard
someone coming through the forest. Hitherto the angel had hastened
to its side when men approached. But now the angel
strode away and stood under the cedars yonder. Dear angel,
cried the tree. Can you not hear the footsteps of
someone approaching? Why do you leave me? Have no fear,
said the angel, for he who comes is the Master.
The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He
placed his hands upon its smooth trunk and branches, and
the tree was thrilled with a strange and glorious delight.
Then he stooped and kissed the tree, and then he
turned and went away. Many times after that the Master
came to the forest, and when he came, it always
was to where the tree stood. Many times he rested
beneath the tree and enjoyed the shade of its foliage,
and listened to the music of the wind as it
swept through the rustling leaves. Many times he slept there
and the tree watched over him, and the forest was still,
and all its voices were hushed, and the angel hovered near,
like a faithful sentinel. Ever and anon men came with
the Master to the forest and sat with him in
the shade of the tree, and talked with him of
matters which the tree never could understand. Only it heard
that the talk was of love and charity and gentleness.
And it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated
by the others. It heard them tell of the Master's
goodness and humility, how he had healed the sick and
raised the dead, and bestowed inestimable blessings wherever he walked.
And the tree loved the Master for his beauty and
his goodness, And when he came to the forest it
was full of joy. But when he came not, it
was sad. And the other trees of the forest joined
in its happiness and its sorrow, for they too loved
the Master, and the angel always hovered near. The Master
came one night alone into the forest, and his face
was pale with anguish and wet with tears, and he
fell upon his knees and prayed. The tree heard him,
and all the forest was still, as if it were
standing in the presence of death. And when the morning
came low, the angel had gone. Then there was a
great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of
rude voices and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange
men appeared, uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the
tree was filled with terror. It called aloud for the angel,
But the angel came, not, cried the vine. They have
come to destroy the tree, the pride and glory of
the forest. The forest was sorely agitated, but it was
in vain. The strange men plied their axes with cruel vigor,
and the tree was hewn to the ground. Its beautiful
branches were cut away and cast aside, and its soft,
thick foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.
They are killing me, cried the tree. Why is not
the angel here to protect me? But no one heard
the piteous cry, none but the other trees of the forest,
and they wept, and the little vine wept too. Then
the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from
the forest, and the forest saw that beauteous thing. No more,
but the night wind that swept down from the city
of the Great King that night to ruffle the bosom
of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest a while to
say that it had seen that day across upraised on
Calvary the tree on which was stretched the body of
the Dying Master, and of the first Christmas Tree. By
Eugene Field.